I'm a freaking Hufflepuff.

I've made a mistake.

I've jumped to conclusions, I've been horrid, jealous, and bitter.

I know I'm not perfect, but I'm trying to be better. I'm trying to actually like myself...

I always had thought that I had my personality. I had that. That was the best thing about me. I thought I wasn't pretty enough, I thought I wasn't skinny enough, but at least I had my personality. The best part about me. Then I do things, in the heat of the moment, I say things, filled with emotion that I know I will regret, but I just don't care, because it sounds good. It makes me look like the good guy when I truly know I'm just a horrible cold person. A person who tries.

You may think it's smart to hate me and to ignore me. Maybe it is. You would know after all. But I'm not going to give up. Because that's not who I am.

Let me just say this... I'm sorry. To all I've hurt, toyed with, and broken.

I'm just sorry.

It Would Sound Lovely

I ran into you the other day. You looked just as I remembered, beanie covering your brown hair, skin a lovely tan color, the sound of your voice, your amazingly dark brown eyes. It was all just too much. You saw me again, those dark eyes latching onto my own.

Though we didn't speak (because I had my friends and you had yours), I saw the recognition.

You remembered too.

My breath hitched, my body tensed, and I knew every movement, every step was basing your opinion on me. Thoughts raced through my mind.

Has he noticed my absence on the bus?

Has he looked for me?

Does he even know my name?

Do you? Do you know my name? Do you doodle it in the margins of your papers? Do you imagine how it would sound with yours?

It would sound lovely.

Wondering

Sometimes I wonder about you. I wonder what you're like, if you think of me, if you ask about me... I wonder if we'd be good together, I wonder if we'd have a chance... I wonder if you still can see me, or if I'm invisible again..?

Am I?

Please tell me I'm not, because though I'm a girl who never really knows what she wants... I know I want you.

Shit.

Why am I not photogenic? Damn.

Well... at least I'm nice and generally happy. That's gotta make up for something.

I can't believe I just don't have the words to say for once. Ergh. This is seriously frustrating me, because being photogenic seems to be the only important thing in this day and age.

Just...

Shit.

Flying

He looked.

The shy girl with red glasses and freckled cheeks isn't quite as invisible as she once thought.

She had stopped looking for his face long ago. She had given up the possibility of being seen. But today had been a good day, and she missed his face oh-so-much. So she peeked.

His tan skin, beautiful mouth, dark dark eyes. It was like a breath of fresh air. She immediately wished to be closer to him. Then, something new. The seat to her right [number eight precisely] was suddenly occupied.

Startled, but not disappointed, she watched him out of the corner of her eye, feeling oddly aware. Without much warning he peeked at her as well. His dark dark eyes were finally on her and she was flying.

With as little as two blinks time, the moment was gone. The rest of the ride, she listened to him speak, cherishing the sound of his voice. Then, for the remainder of the day, all she could focus on was the feeling of his eyes on her.

Of those dark dark eyes on her.

Of being seen.

Of flying.